Page 4 of The Songbird of Wychwood

The bells chimed all over London telling the city it was six o’clock. He waited until the sixth bell fell to silence and then Mr. Cuthbert roared.

“On your marks. Go!”

The men did as ordered, walking ten paces away from one another. Valentine was the first to turn and raise his pistol. When grandfather turned, he met the gaze of his former friend and Valentine fired. My grandfather didn’t even raise his weapon, even though he was supposed to be first. The shot hit him in the heart. His face crumpled in pain and then he fell backwards, dead before he hit the dew-soaked grass. My ears rang with the sound of that awful fatal shot. I felt as if all of the blood had rushed from me and I was cold to my very bones. I couldn’t move, my father’s mouth gaped in a horrified rictus. Valentine then dropped his pistol and rushed the twenty paces across the grass. He fell to his knees beside his old friend and cried out,

“Theo, my love! Oh my God, Theo.” He cradled his friend’s head as he sobbed, and then to my dismay he cupped Theo’s cheek and kissed him on the mouth, a kiss so tender and intimate, it stole my breath. Then Edmund Valentine took the pistol from my grandfather’s lifeless hand, put it to his own temple, and fired.

****

As you can imagine the following days were filled with grief and confusion. I did not understand why my grandfather had not fired on his opponent, or why Valentine had taken his own life. Father was in a daze and mother was, of course, inconsolable. But arrangements were made, and the funeral followed the traditions and wishes of the late Theodore Harcourt.

After the funeral we assembled in the parlour with Mr. Fawkes, our family solicitor, who then read the Last Will and Testament of Theodore Harcourt. My father, as son and heir, inherited the Blackwood Estate and the publishing empire. I was left Theo’s city bolt-hole, which was an apartment on Hamilton Place at Hyde Park Corner. I was also left a large sum of money that was to be invested into a business, along with monthly stipend for living expenses. Finally, Mr. Fawkes handed me a curious letter addressed in my grandfather’s hand.

The letter sat on my bed room mantle for two full days before I found the courage to open it. I settled onto my bed, a glass of claret on my night stand, and by gaslight I tore the envelope open and pulled the letter out. A gold coin of some sort fell from the envelope and onto my lap. I picked it up and looked at it. The number 36 was impressed on both sides. It didn’t look like the kind of coin one could spend; so maybe it was a gaming counter? Confused, I settled back and read:

“My dearest Percy,

What I’m about to tell you is deeply private. I ask that after reading this letter you burn it so the contents will not bring shame upon the family.”

Well, as opening paragraphs went, this was both alarming and intriguing. I reached for the glass of claret, took a gulp for courage, and then continued.

“It grieves me to write to you in this manner, but I must face the fact that no matter the outcome of the duel, I am at the end of my days and will soon be with my maker. Whoever succeeds, neither Edmund nor I will have won satisfaction in this life.

I have many regrets, but my primary regret is that I did not extend the hand of peace to dear Edmund sooner. You see, it may shock you to learn that Edmund and I had a friendship that secretly stepped beyond the bounds of propriety. I loved him most dearly, more than anyone I’ve ever known, and he loved me in return. We loved in a way we both felt was completely natural, but society and the church would never see it that way.

We did not endeavor upon a physical love until after your grandmother passed away. I was in a state of the deepest grief when I lost Florence, and Edmund offered me comfort. We became entwined in all areas of life and kept the secret of our shared inversion. I cherished those years with him by my side and, you may think it scandalous, but also in my bed. I would not change what we shared for all of the riches in the world.

Our falling out was unexpected and deeply hurtful. Looking back after all these years it sounds childish, and I regret allowing things to become so muddled. You see, men like us cannot marry, and if discovered our love would lead us to prison or the gibbet. Edmund suggested that as we could not marry, we should make our partnership official in another way, by making him part owner on the deeds of Harcourt & Valentine Press. It was my inheritance that financed the opening of the business and I’d wanted both of our names for the publisher to show that we were partners in the enterprise. Edmund wanted more than his name above the door and I was too bloody minded for my own good. I stubbornly refused to share the financial ownership, even though Edmund’s blood, sweat, and tears had help to build the business. Edmund took my refusal as a statement that I no longer loved him. This was entirely untrue. But we were hot-tempered men and so in a fit of pique he left me and set up a rival publishing company. From that day on I have regretted my stubborn nature and wished to reach out to him. But at every turn we butted heads.

Do not make the same mistake as me, my dear boy. When you find the one you love, do all you can to keep him close. And yes, I said him because, Percy, I recognize that you share the same preference as I. If I am incorrect, please forgive me, this observation was not made as a slight. However, if I am accurate in my belief you would do well to read on and then burn this letter.”

I paused, my mind reeling with all I’d read. Theodore and Edmund had been lovers, and for a long time, it seemed. I’d always wondered why grandfather had never taken another wife after the grandmother I’d never known passed away. It made sense now, no matter how scandalous, that these men had found a way to have a loving relationship in secret before it fell apart. I wanted to know more, and so I turned the page and read on.

“You will find within the envelope with this letter, a gold token with the number 36 engraved upon it. I am giving you the token because I do not want you to be alone anymore. Take it from one as ancient and lonely as I that life is too long and painful without a companion. The token will permit you to access to a discrete establishment that caters for men such as we. You will be in the company of your fellows and need not fear your difference or the law, because the location is a deeply held secret within a community of gentlemen. I want you to know how it feels to enjoy your fellow man and to not fear expressing your innermost feelings. The establishment owner has been informed of my final wishes and when the next event is decided you will receive a note of instruction.”

I turned the gold token over in my fingers. It did not have any distinguishing marks, a maker’s initials, or tavern name.

“I have one final secret to impart, dear Percy. I pray that it may banish any confusion you feel about the outcome of the duel. You see, I was diagnosed with a beastly disease that would swiftly and painfully lead to the loss of my dignity as well as my life. Edmund and I promised one another a long time ago that if such an event were to occur we would seek the other out for a quick exit. The duel you witnessed was a ruse to facilitate such an event. If you are reading this letter my beloved Edmund came good in the end and proved his love for me was as true as I believed it to be.”

I was sobbing as I read the last letter written by my grandfather. I slipped the mysterious gold token into my waistcoat pocket. I re-read the letter several times, committing it to memory. I never knew of Theo’s preference and for my whole life thought him a deeply lonely man who worked to the point of obsession. But now I understood him better, and I wept for the man I would not be able to thank for understanding me more than I was able to understand myself.

He was right, you see. I do favour men and have been too afraid to act on my desires. I’ve poured my longing into poetry and with my debating society, into passionate oration on the nature of love, the soul, and the human condition. At the age of twenty-six, I have never kissed a girl, yet I have kissed two boys. Neither was my sweetheart and even though I’d wanted more I was wracked with deep turmoil, fearing exposure, or betrayal. Theodore had known his true love, his Edmund, and even though they parted long ago Edmund saw to it that his beloved found a quick painless death, before he took his own life to be with him. They were star-crossed and in an impossible situation. No matter how tragic, it gave me comfort that Theo and Edmund were together at last.

I could never let my parents know the truth of the duel, or my personal truth. I rose from my bed and tossed the letter into the fire watching the ivory paper blacken at the edges, and then flames engulf it. I would do as grandfather suggested and aim to be true to myself. I was desperately tired of being alone. I had many friends, but no intimates. I wanted to know the touch of another man, and so I would await the letter from the secretive collective and find myself a discrete suitor with whom I could enjoy an odyssey into the unknown.

****

A stack of mail was waiting for me in my office at Harcourt’s Press in Wapping. I’d worked as an editor at the family business for three years, and I was rather relieved the business had not been passed to me as Theo had previously threatened. I wanted so much more from my life than to be bogged down by keeping the wheels of this huge publishing empire rolling. I enjoyed editing; however, my passion was for poetry, and I was determined to experience life just like the romantic poets whose work I obsessed over throughout my youth. I too wanted to be able to express the truth of my heart.

Ordinarily, unless a letter was marked as private, my secretary would open the mail and pile it on my in-tray according to urgency. I was grateful she had missed one particular envelope. The letter in question stood out because of the attractive handwriting penned in purple ink. Maybe she thought it was a love letter, or an invitation. I locked my office door before returning to my desk, picking up the letter opener, and slitting the envelope. There were two sheets of paper within. First, I read that the next soirée for something called Club Fifty-Five would occur on Friday, this Friday in fact. A coach would collect me from Blackwood Hall at six p.m. and take me to the event.

The second sheet of paper listed the rules of Club Fifty-Five. Members did not share names, instead each had a number, and hence, the gold token my grandfather left me which was engraved with the number 36. Members were not permitted to bring guests. All intimacy that occurred at the event was to be consensual. The most important rule was that no one was permitted to mention Club Fifty-Five or share its location; for the safety of all who attended. Breaking the rules would lead to banishment from the club and any man who revealed the nature or address of the establishment would have a campaign ruination set against them. I understood the need for secrecy and the threat of ruination. As directed, I burned both letters after reading. This was all very cloak and dagger, but I must admit I was intrigued. It was my grandfather’s dying wish for me to attend. What exactly did gentlemen get up to at Club Fifty-Five?

I was about to find out!

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